


Back to School

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Absent John Winchester, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Dean, Dead Amara, Dead Mary Winchester, Dean Has Panic Attacks, Legal Guardian Dean, Love Triangles, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Parent Castiel, Pining, Professor Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam is Sixteen Years Old, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12907179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: Taking short online courses is very different from attending an actual college—or at least that's what Dean Winchester tries to tell his younger brother, Sam, when Sam attempts to convince Dean to head back to school at one of the local colleges in Sioux Falls.Professor Castiel Novak decides moving to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, is just the thing he needs to get his life back on track after his marriage to his first wife fails.Both men come to learn that a great deal can happen on and off campus.





	1. Studious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teacass (Fushigi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/gifts).



> This is unbetaed (so far) and I have no firm idea where it's going, but I needed to write something after getting halfway through a course similar to the one Dean starts out on. [teacass's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/pseuds/teacass) enthusiasm for the idea only further spurred on my need to write it down.
> 
> The fic is rated explicit for the content of upcoming chapters.

“Next week, we’ll be moving onto one of the big responses to Psychoanalysis and Freud,” Professor Novak smiled, blue eyes twinkling on the screen, “Behaviorism. But until then, do take the time to watch these extra videos and check out these readings.” The professor ran his right hand through his messy black and the screen on the TV faded to black and paused as Dean’s cell flashed at him.

Dean quickly worked through the questions that the course app, EduWorld, had prompted on his cell. Getting both questions right, Dean closed the app—he’d watched all of that week’s lectures. He stretched out the fingers on his right hand and shook it, not use to writing so much.

For the first time in two hours, he looked outside and saw that the sun had moved on a fair bit whilst he’d been cooped up in his living room. Sam would be home soon from soccer practice and Dean needed to get dinner on.

Standing up from his pillow nest on the living room floor, Dean gave a long stretch, getting up on the balls of his feet, hands reaching up to the ceiling, brown Henley riding up from the top of his jeans. The muscles in his back popped and he grunted, finally settling back down. He stashed his notebook and pens in a slot saved for it by the wide screen TV and padded into the kitchen.

Professor Novak’s lecture played back to him in his head as he started getting together what he needed to make mac-n-cheese from scratch. He knew Sam didn’t mind instant, but Dean did. Pulling out butter from the fridge and a pack of macaroni from a cupboard, he considered the fact that Freud had been one of the first professionals concerned with actually treating people.

“Still, a crazy son of a bitch,” Dean muttered to himself, fully aware of the irony of his own words for describing Sigmund Freud.

Getting lost in the familiar motions of measuring out the macaroni and adding it to boiling water, Dean continued to review what he’d learned that afternoon. The week’s lectures (all eight of them), running 10 to 20 minutes each, had given Dean a lot to think about.

It was still so new to him, having the time to indulge himself in learning whatever he wanted. When the life insurance for Dean and Sam’s mom had finally come through, Sam had pointed out that Dean didn’t need to put in forty hours at Bobby’s auto shop. He could step back a bit and do something for himself, rather than for Sam’s sake.

And it wasn’t like Dean had to worry about their father anymore. John had gone off to play happy families with someone else once he realized he wasn’t getting a dime of Mary’s life insurance.

Dean had decided to buy a place for him and Sam in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, having gained guardianship of his younger brother. And so Dean did his best to focus on how good things were now that they were in control of their own lives and living near the only family they’d ever really known, people like Bobby Singer, Ellen Harvelle, and Sheriff Jody Mills. It didn’t matter that they weren’t blood—they cared and that was the kind of environment Dean needed Sam in.

And sure Dean was twenty-nine and hadn’t had a long-term relationship since high school, but at least Professor Novak was easy on the eyes. He also had a voice that Dean could easily imagine spilling more than just the structure of the human brain.

Ignoring his dick, Dean continued to fix dinner. If he didn’t have dinner pretty much done by the time Sam came back from practice, his little brother would raid the snack draw and stuff himself with junk food and then feel guilty about that and pile a salad on top.

While Dean could _maybe_ get behind the salad, he rather Sam didn’t snack on candy and chips before he reached his normal gastronomic guilt trip.

“Something’s missing,” Dean muttered to himself, hand pausing on measuring out grated cheddar. _Tunes_ , he realized.

“Alexa,” Dean piped up, “play seventies classic rock.”

“Playing seventies classic rock music,” a disembodied female voice replied. The kitchen suddenly filled with the opening chords of “Renegade” by Styx and Dean’s foot started to tap on the gray tiles of the kitchen floor.

Dean’s feet were tapping to Black Sabbath by the time Sam came in through the back door and straight into the kitchen. “Hey,” Sam called in passing as he went through to the utility room to dump his dirty soccer kit.

The mac-and-cheese was browning and Dean was on his cell, caught up in reading one of the extra articles Professor Novak had linked to. A few seconds too late, Dean realized Sam had returned and he called a, “Hey!” back to Sam.

“How long until dinner?” Sam asked, hands in the front of his hooded team sweater as he stepped up beside the breakfast counter Dean was standing at.

Dean looked up, taking in Sam’s hair, noting it was getting long again, though he doubted his brother would let a barber near it. He also saw that Sam’s jeans were getting too short for him, again.

“Five minutes tops. Set the table, would you?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but did as he was told and started getting what he needed and taking it to the dining table occupying one corner of the bungalow’s kitchen. “Whatcha looking at?”

Dean glanced up from his cell. “Just reading a bit of the _Interpretation of Dreams_ , by Freud.”

“Hmmm,” Sam moved around, grabbing cutlery and glasses, “you’re really getting into that psychology course… you thought about, y’know, maybe enrolling at college.”

And where had that come from? Dean put his cell down and frowned. “I’m just doing this… because I want to Sam. I’m not doing it to get some fancy diploma. The certificate costs less than forty dollars.”

“But imagine what’d it be like to go to a real school. Get a degree.”

Dean stuffed his cell in his back pocket and went to get a beer for himself from the refrigerator and the pitcher of water, they kept in there, for Sam. “I’m a mechanic, Sam. And anyway—I need to keep an eye on you.” He put the beer down on a coaster and poured the water for Sam.

“Then go to the one of the schools here in Sioux Falls. I’m pretty sure one of them has a good psychology department.” Sam sat down at the table and looked up at Dean.

“Shouldn’t we be worrying about you going to college next, huh? I know we got the payout for Mom… but I need to keep working if you’re gonna do that whole Stanford thing you’ve been dreaming of since you were nine.” Dean put the water back in the refrigerator.

A blush rose to Sam’s cheeks and he looked away. “Sure, but I could always get a part-time job. And I bet Bobby would still give you some hours at the shop. We could manage, Dean.”

Learning for fun and going to school for real were, as far as Dean was concerned, two very different things. The timer beeped on the stove and Dean worked in silence as he served up the mac-and-cheese, along with some veggies he’d left keeping warm on the top of the stove.

Sat at the table, Dean hardly touched his food as he thought. Sam ate with his usual post-practice relish. After a few minutes, Dean put his fork down and took a sip of beer.

“I’m a mechanic, Sam,” Dean repeated, putting the beer down.

Sam set his fork down and dragged a finger through the condensation on his water glass. “But you don’t have to be.”

“I’m good with my hands.”

“You’re pretty damn good with your head too.”

Silence settled between the two brothers again. Neither ate, instead looking at each other across the small round table.

Dean tapped the pine table top. “Sam, I’m too old.”

Sam crossed his arms and gave Dean bitchface number 21—the one for when Dean was grasping at straws. “You know mature students are a thing. And you’d probably not even be the oldest there.”

“But-”

“You once told me, before Mom died, that you wanted to help people, Dean. If you went back to school, you could become a school counselor, or even a teacher. You could help people.”

Dean’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t have a retort, because Sam knew that while Dean was indeed good at fixing cars, what he really wanted to do was to really help other people. And a GED and a few short online courses wasn’t enough for that. He knew they could afford it, but what if he wasn’t good enough?

“I’ll think about it.” Dean picked up his fork and started to eat again, Sam copying him.

Later that night, when he went to bed, Dean found prospectuses for several local colleges laid out on his bed. Lamp on, Dean flicked through them and worried his tongue against the side of his mouth. _Maybe it’s not such a crazy idea after all?_


	2. Start Again

“How much?”

“Look, it ain’t worth fixin’. I got plenty of other clunkers in the yard that’ll suit your needs, for cheaper than what it’ll cost to fix your Continental.”

Castiel sighed and ran a hand through his already messy black hair. _It’s just a car_ , he tried to rationalize. _Just the car you were given when you graduated. Just the car you proposed to Amelia in. Just the car where your daughter was born, because she couldn’t wait to get into this world…_ Castiel rubbed at the back of his neck, as he tried to make a decision.

“Well?” Bobby Singer asked, but still waited patiently. Something about the older man’s eyes suggested he had an inkling of the conflict running around in Castiel’s head.

Looking over the tan paintwork, Castiel gently packed away the memories he had of the car, and set them aside. He pulled his trenchcoat around himself more and shielded himself from regret. Coming to Sioux Falls was meant to be a new start, a new beginning for him. _Perhaps it’s time? I can afford something not too flashy… and it’s just going to keep breaking down._

“Well, maybe not quite a clunker?” Castiel gave Bobby a grateful smile.

Bobby pushed his baseball cap up and had a look over his shoulder, towards the cars the auto shop had for sale. “I think I got somethin’ that might work. Follow me.”

The two of them walked over to the lot and Bobby stopped beside a silver car. Castiel had no idea what model the car was, or whether it was any good, but it definitely looked like a car.

“This here’s a 2009 Chevrolet Impala LT. Talking 122,000 miles, 4-speed automatic...” Bobby gestured at the car. “Front wheel drive. One careful previous owner.”

Castiel nodded. To him it just looked like a silver sedan.

“I can knock it down to 4,400 if you let me have the Continental for parts?”

Checking over his shoulder, Castiel looked back to his old car. It had served him well, getting him all the way from Pontiac, Illinois to Sioux Falls, South Dakota in good time. But clearly its time had come.

“Sure. Sounds good,” Castiel answered. If his voice sounded a little higher than its usual huskiness, Bobby didn’t say anything.

Less than hour later, Castiel was in his “new” Impala and following Google Map directions on his cell, heading to his new apartment at Joyce Heights. He’d spent one night there so far and he was meant to be shopping for some more furniture, not buying a car.

He would have to put off buying anything until his next paycheck, unless he found a good secondhand furniture scene among local Facebook groups. Then he might be able to pick up a few things. But a working car was more important than a dining table and chairs set. Though he did wish he had a bed frame to go with his new mattress.

Parking up in the lot beside the apartment complex, Castiel stuck his permit on the inside of the windscreen and the got out of the car. He walked around it, trying to get use to its modern curves and lack of straight edges. Eventually he pressed the lock button on the fob and headed for his fourth floor apartment.

The second he set foot in the bare space, Castiel whipped off his coat and blue tie, and popped the top button on his white shirt. He couldn’t believe he’d gone from having his orientation day at Moseley University, as one of their new professors, to all his car drama. Having put the coat and tie in his bedroom, Castiel collapsed on the ancient leather couch he’d brought to the apartment when he’d moved. The couch had once lived in his study in the home he'd shared with Amelia and Claire.

Castiel stared at his living room. The walls were white. A few boxes were lined up against them and Castiel had a bookshelf to fill. He’d need another set of shelves if he was going to have enough room for all of his books. If there was anything he owned a lot of—it was fantasy, science fiction, and critical works on psychology. Potter versus Freud.

The apartment was built three years prior, and even had a little balcony through a set of French doors. This was Castiel’s first time living alone. He’d gone from living with his parents, to living in dorms and shared accommodation in college, to apartment sharing after graduation and during grad school, to living with Amelia, to married and living with Amelia, and to living with Amelia and Claire. It felt weird to have no one else’s needs to cater for in a space he called home.

But Castiel needed to get use to being alone. He had no friends in Sioux Falls, only his brother and there was no way Gabriel was going to move in with him or let Castiel move in with him. Gabriel had had enough of sharing a bedroom while they were growing up, and Castiel needed to stretch his wings, finally, and do some more of that growing up thing himself.

His stomach rumbled. It was early evening and his refrigerator still didn’t have anything other than milk in it. Getting up from the couch, Castiel unlocked his cell and found a pizza place nearby that looked at least okay and would deliver.

With an extra large “deluxe uno” on the way, which apparently had “the best sausage” according to a review, Castiel dialed his brother’s number and hoped he would pick up. Growing up a bit more also meant knowing when to pick your battles when it came to top heavy pizza slices.

“Missing me already, little bro?” Gabriel purred over the line once he answered.

“I’ve just ordered too much pizza. Join me and bring beer.”

“Oh, Cas, you sweet talker, you. I’ll be over in twenty.”

Gabriel arrived with the pizza in hand, beers in the other, an impish smile playing across his features. He kept sniffing at the box and Castiel had a struggle to get the pizza box away from his brother. The two of them sat on the couch, box and beers on a walnut coffee table in front of them.

“Here,” Castiel shoved some bills at Gabriel to pay for the pizza.

Gabriel waved him off, removing his green jacket and smoothing out his White Stripes t-shirt. “No, my treat.”

“Uh, thanks.” Castiel put his money away and picked up his first slice of pizza, napkin in hand. Cheese, sausage and ground beef sat in a bed of tomato sauce and herbs. Castiel’s mouth watered as he took his first bite.

“Mmmmmmm,” Castiel moaned around his mouthful. He swallowed and looked up to find Gabriel looking at him as if he’d grown two heads.

“It’s just pizza.”

“I missed lunch… Too busy with orientation and then my damn car finally died.”

Gabriel chewed on his first slice, expression concerned. “Your car died?”

“Yeah. The car’s gone.”

“Woah… do you need me to give you a ride on Monday?”

Castiel shook his head. “Nah, bought another at the auto shop the Continental got towed to.”

“This thing actually run?”

“I drove it home.”

“The thing safe?”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel finished his slice of pizza and grabbed his beer. “If you’re wondering whether I bought a deathtrap—no. It has seat belts, airbags and was built in 2009. It’s a Chevrolet Impala LT.”

“What does the LT stand for?”

“I have no idea. It’s a car. It starts, and has an automatic transmission and front wheel drive. It has so far done a very good job of getting me from Singer Auto to my apartment.”

“Okay, okay.”

For a few minutes the two of them ate in silence. The pizza was really good and Castiel knew he’d be ordering it again in future.

In between slices and sips of beer, Gabriel glanced around the open plan living room, kitchen and dining area. “Still looking rather plain here.”

Castiel shrugged and sipped his beer. “Buying a car kinda put my Ikea plans on hold.”

“I think I got some of aunt Amara’s stuff you can have. It’s in the cellar, but I’m sure we can get it out of there easy enough.”

Castiel chuckled. “You think her old furniture is really bachelor pad material?”

“I’m not gonna insist on you taking any of her old doilies. Don’t worry.”

Castiel huffed out a small laugh. “Good.”

The two of them, somehow, managed to finish the pizza. As Castiel didn’t have a TV yet, Gabriel decided to help him shelve what they could of his books, and they managed to empty two boxes.

“You need more shelves,” Gabriel complained.

“I need a bed.”

Gabriel pushed his hair off his forehead and gave Castiel an incredulous look. “You don’t even have a bed yet?”

“Got a mattress. It’s a real comfortable mattress.”

Gabriel dusted his hands off on his jeans and straightened his back. “I think aunt Amara’s bed is in my cellar.”

Looking up at Gabriel, Castiel tilted his head to the side. “I thought aunt Amara died in her bed?”

“Oh, is that where she died?”

“You know it was.”

Stepping back from the shelves, Castiel dusted his hands off and flattened out the two boxes they’d emptied onto the bookshelves. He wanted a bed, but not desperately enough to have the one his aunt died in.

“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine,” Gabriel whined. He picked up his jacket and car keys. “Lemme know how your first week goes, no matter what.”

“Of course. But it’s just teaching, Gabriel. Don’t sound so worried.”


	3. PSY 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Dean has a mild panic attack in this chapter.

“Dude, that guy’s wearing MC Hammer pants!”

“Quit staring, Sammy! And I’m kinda shocked you know who MC Hammer is.”

“Right… right.” Sam averted his gaze and looked at the ground as Dean stood in the quad and studied a map.

Why Dean had thought it was a good idea to have Sam trooping around with him during check in—he had no idea. The only advantage Dean currently had was that he wasn’t having to move into dorms at Moseley University. Though he had to admit that maybe he looked a little out of place—his dad’s old brown leather jacket on over his t-shirt, jeans without holes, thick soled boots on his feet. He’d have to rethink his wardrobe before Monday.

Sam was acting like he was a in a candy store, the way his eyes kept bugging out at all the outfits everyone was wearing and the things they were talking about. It was a lot like high school and then a lot not like high school. Dean was pretty sure the kid would pass out within a second of stepping foot on campus, when Sam finally got to college himself.

“Okay, so it looks like I need to go here to get my student card, which also acts as my library card...” Dean pointed to a building on the map that looked to be a couple of buildings away.

Dean folded the map and knocked his shoulder into Sam. “C’mon. Soon as I got my card, we can bail and finally get lunch.”

The two of them walked past a group of freshmen sat on some grass, congregated around a student advisor who seemed to be giving a talk on how to access much of the college’s services. Dean overheard something about counseling and that was it. He’d had enough. He’d already been to one talk about trying classes during his first two weeks, which he planned to do as far as he could. A folder stuffed under his arm was slowly filling with handouts and leaflets informing him of a million things he hadn’t given much attention too.

 _There’s always Sunday,_ Dean kept telling himself. In a way, Dean wanted four years of college to just go by already. Bobby and Ellen had both helped him review his and Sam’s money situation, and the whole thing, even with mortgage repayments on the house, was more doable than Dean had realized. Getting Sam into college once he’d graduated high school was also financially doable.

Maybe they had it easy now, but the road to being in that situation was not one Dean would ever happily drive down. He wouldn’t even have sent his worst enemy down it—not that Dean had a worse enemy, except one football player in his sophomore year in high school who’d spent way too much time finding ways to pick fights with Dean. (And had been interested in more than fighting, but had been too scared to admit it.)

Getting a college education through long drawn out painful death of your mother was not, and would never be, a method of funding that Dean would recommend.

Reaching the seminar room where ID card photos were being taken, Dean queued up, Sam beside him. They didn’t have to wait too long before Dean was walking up to have his picture taken. Sam stood behind the camera operator, making stupid goofy faces, which Dean tried hard to not laugh at. His photo was taken and less than minute later his ID card was printed.

“At least you don’t look like a serial killer,” Sam pointed out as they walked back to Dean’s car, a 67 Chevrolet Impala.

Dean snorted. “No, I just look constipated.”

“Nothing new there then...”

Sam managed to duck away from Dean’s hand as it went to “gently” smack Sam up the side of the head.

“Little brothers, who needs them,” Dean huffed out as they reached the side street they’d parked on.

Getting into the car, there was no question of where they were going to eat. It was obviously going to be Benny’s diner. The drive there was short and Benny greeted them warmly once they headed in. Benny let the two of them take their usual booth and brought over their regular drinks—apple juice for Sam, black coffee for Dean.

“So, how’s it going, college boy?” Benny asked, giving Dean a wink, blue eyes sparkling.

Dean gave Benny an unimpressed look as the diner owner handed him and Sam menus. “Fine. Thanks. Check in was today. Got everything fixed for Monday, ID card… an idea of the classes I wanna try out over the next few weeks.”

Benny nodded, a smile playing across his lips. “Glad to hear it… Okay, I’ll give you two a chance to figure out what you want.” Benny headed off to deal with some more customers who had just come in.

Picking up his menu, Dean looked over the burger menu, unsure if he wanted his usual or something different. But as he stared at the laminated card, he got the feeling he was being watched.

Dean looked over the top of his menu at Sam. His brother was staring at him like he was a complete idiot, which was pretty unfair, all things considered.

“What?” Dean asked.

“How can you… You’re oblivious.” Sam huffed out a breath.

 _What the hell?!_ “Excuse me?”

“You need me to spell it out? Okay… Benny.”

“Benny?”

“Yes, Benny.”

“He’s crushing on you, has been for a million years as far, as I can tell.”

“No wa-”

“Think about it.”

Dean did. They’d been coming to Benny’s diner for just over six months, started not long after it opened. Benny had always been attentive, perhaps more so than he was with his other customers. And he always had a smile for Dean. Knew how he liked his steak. Knew how he liked his coffee. Knew how much onion to put on his burgers.

“Oh god.”

“There, realization.” Sam sipped his juice.

“Uhhhhhh...”

“Just, if he does say anything about this—try not to break his heart, okay? I like eating here.”

***

“Not running late. Not running late. Not running late...” Dean repeated to himself, over and over, as he found a spot in the main lot and parked. He really wasn’t running late, but his over anxious mind had been torturing him since about 3 am that he was going to turn up to class late, and possibly naked. It was not how Dean had wanted to spend the early hours of Monday morning. Rising panic had overtaken any thoughts Dean had been having about Benny.

Sam had been cool as damn cucumber when Dean dropped his brother off at high school. A few words of encouragement. A brotherly pat on the shoulder. But now as Dean picked up the leather shoulder bag he’d specifically bought for carrying his college books, notebooks and stuff around in, he couldn’t summon the enthusiasm he’d felt on Saturday.

 _Why the hell did I believe this was such a good idea? Why?! Damnit, Sam, what have you talked me into?_ Dean watched a group women walk by who were definitely younger than him, and if this had been a normal day in a normal setting, Dean would have forgotten his troubles and followed after them. Instead he was feeling like it was getting kinda hard to breathe. Distantly he wondered if he’d done up too many buttons on his blue button down shirt.

“Woah!” exclaimed a woman with long red hair and pale skin. She reached out and caught Dean just as he started to tilt towards the ground. She groaned a little with the effort, but somehow managed to steer Dean towards a bench and sit him down.

“Hey, you okay? You got low blood sugar or something?” the red head asked.

Dean looked up at the woman who’d stopped him from face planting the campus sidewalk. She wore a purple t-shirt that said “Potter for President” in large white lettering, and had a pair of sizeable headphones hanging around her neck. “Walking on Sunshine” was playing over them.

“Not diabetic,” Dean reassured, but his voice was a little shaky. He felt cold and clammy.

The red head leaned in and squinted at Dean, appraising every minute detail of his being, or so it felt. She leaned over him like this for what seemed like hours, until she pulled back, opened up her rucksack and pulled out a chocolate bar and a bottle of water.

“Here, eat and drink this.” She held out the food for Dean.

Dean glanced at the label and realized the chocolate was some imported UK stuff. The whole scene seemed weirdly familiar, but Dean couldn’t put his finger on why. “Uh, thanks.”

The red head sat down beside Dean as he ate the chocolate, which he did with a surprising amount of speed, even though he’d had eggs only an hour ago.

“Charlie,” the red head offered her hand after Dean had finished taking his fill of the water.

“Dean.” He shook Charlie’s hand and smiled.

“Well, Dean, I’m no doctor, but I think you just had a panic attack.” Charlie rolled her shoulders back and popped her neck. The bony crunch was loud enough that Dean could hear it over the general chatter of other students. “Sorry, bad posture from being a major computer nerd.”

“Heh… But a panic attack?” Dean rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Happens to the best of us.” Charlie tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “What you got first thing?”

“Psy 101.”

Charlie’s expression broke out into a grin. “Same. C’mon, let’s go grab the best seats before anyone else can.” Standing up, Charlie held out her hand to Dean and he took it, raising to his feet, only feeling dizzy for a brief moment.

Walking through campus to the lecture hall, Dean tried to focus on the fact that he’d done scarier crap when his mom was still alive. Going to school was nothing—he’d been through worse.

They were the first ones there.

“Over here,” Charlie prompted, leading the two of them to seats off the center aisle, on the second row. Charlie took the seat beside the stairs and Dean took the seat beside her.

“Do you know who teaches this class?” Dean asked as he pulled out a notebook and mechanical pencil.

Charlie shook her head. “New member of staff from what I can tell. No idea who.” She pulled out a laptop and quirked an eyebrow at Dean’s notebook and pencil. “Low tech?”

“I’ll have you know, but several studies have found that handwriting lecture notes makes the experience more memorable than if you type it.” Dean fiddled with his pencil.

“Is that so?”

“It is.” Dean wrote down the date and the class at the top of the open page of his notebook.

The hall slowly filled up with other students until over a hundred people were sat in the room. More could be seated, but Dean was glad that they weren’t completely packed. He was still feeling a little woozy from his panic attack, if that was what it was—Dean wasn’t 100% convinced.

A door to the right of the massive white board at the front of the hall opened, and a man strolled into the room, briefcase in hand. He had dark messy hair, wore a blue knitted sweater over a white dress shirt, gray slacks. Dean couldn’t see the guy’s face as he headed straight for the board.

Pen in hand, the guy wrote his name out in quick confident strokes and Dean felt his own eyes grow large.

“No,” Dean whispered, “it can’t be.”

“What’s up?” Charlie whispered back.

The professor turned around and gave the class a polite smile. “I’m Professor Castiel Novak, and I will be teaching you Psychology 101 this semester.”

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off the professor, heat and familiarity curling inside him and making his stomach flutter. His mouth went dry. Professor Novak’s gaze settled on Dean, lingered longer than any other student, before whipping away as he continued with introducing himself to the class. How'd he end up in the same class run by the guy who taught his old MOOC psych course?

“Dean?” Charlie hissed.

“Everything’s fine,” Dean lied.

Charlie gave Dean an unimpressed side eye, but held her tongue.

Dean struggled to take in much of what Professor Novak said, but Charlie promised that Dean could copy her notes for that lecture. _What sweet hell is this?_ Dean wondered as the lecture finally wrapped up.

Eyes burned into the back of Dean’s head as he left with Charlie.


	4. What's his name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a date later tonight, so thought I'd post this update early on Valentine's.
> 
> Happy reading all <3

“Read chapter 5 for next week. I want you to all come in with questions for us to try and answer, and discuss. No matter how stupid they seem to you. There are no dumb questions here.” Castiel smiled at the class of freshmen, breath catching a little when his gaze inevitably landed on one particular student who always sat two rows up, near the center aisle.

The student, older than most of his cohort, but not hugely so, looked familiar to Castiel, but he’d yet to remember from where he’d seen him. He hadn’t quite caught his name yet either in the first month he had been lecturing. But Castiel was pretty sure that maybe, just maybe he had a crush.

Not that Castiel was one for sudden flights of fancy, normally, but since being divorced from Amelia, Castiel had finally allowed himself to start _looking_ at other people. Amelia had been his first serious relationship and he’d fallen so hard for her that Castiel hadn’t given himself the chance to really figure himself out.

And it turned out that Castiel liked both women and men. This wasn’t something he’d allowed himself to consider in his, previous, tightly maintained monogamy, but as a divorcée—he was allowing his eyes, mind and heart to be opened.

Apparently the light brown, almost dark blond, haired student who sat two rows up and near the center aisle had stolen Castiel’s heart as soon as he’d opened it up to the world. Or at least that was how it felt whenever his mind wandered for even the briefest moment. _Yet is it really my heart? Or just a long repressed libido finally rearing its head as my id gains a little more sway over my superego than I have previously allowed?_ Thinking more closely on the matter, Castiel concluded—as he watched the class leave and row two freshman’s bowed legged walk giving a delightful view of his rear, and then having to quickly stand behind the desk in the room—that his crush was more lust driven than anything he’d felt since he was a teenager.

_None of this matters_ , Castiel decided as the class finished emptying out of the room and he was finally able to move away from the desk without causing himself embarrassment. _While he is a student of mine, I cannot enter into a relationship with him… I hope he doesn’t decide to specialize in forensic psychology after this semester. Oh, how I hope._ A bubble of guilt rose up inside Castiel and he stamped it down, because he was certain that he would not act upon his feelings whilst the other man was his student, and he would respect whatever choice this particular student made in terms of his studies.

Castiel was positive that he could make it to the end of the semester without incident. He’d just have to keep himself in check. And maybe learn this student’s name before he had a chance to fantasize any further. _It is entirely possible he has a significant other already and is also not interested in men._ All of that would have been easy enough to suppose, if Castiel had not caught this student staring intently at him during each of their lectures together, gaze drifting towards his own backside whenever he wrote something on the white board that dominated the front of the room.

_It’s just one semester… hopefully._

***

“Earth to Cassie, yo!” Gabriel waved a hand in front of Castiel’s face and he brought himself back to reality, finally shoving in his mouth the forkful of pancake he’d had hovering there for probably at least a minute. “Wow, you really zoned out there, bro. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Swallowing, Castiel put down his knife and fork and picked up his mug of coffee. He took a sip, tried to bring under control the thoughts he’d been having of a bow legged student and sighed. “You don’t want to know.”

“I so do. Totally, One hundred percent.” Gabriel shoved a bite of syrup laden pancake into his mouth and chewed like it was a performance, the movement of his jaw exaggerated and over the top.

Castiel rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed again. It was Saturday and they were in a nice diner that had come recommended by a few of the staff at the university, and of course Gabriel. The diner was run by a guy named Benny, who towered over Gabriel, and somehow managed to put up with his brother’s excessive use of double-entendre.

“It’s nothing.”

“So totally something.” Gabriel looked expectantly at Castiel.

Castiel began to nervously play with a teaspoon that he’d set down beside his coffee mug. He ignored the pancakes sat in front of him and tried to find the words that will tell his brother that his perfect Cassie was not as perfect as he imagined. That he in fact had a crush on one of his students, an incredibly superficial crush that was only getting worse as time progressed, and they spent lesson after lesson in the same room.

“I… have a crush on someone,” Castiel said in a small voice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Did you just say you have a crush, Cassie?”

Cheeks heating, Castiel looked anywhere but at his brother. He stared out the window beside him and looked at the street outside. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Geez, man, I thought you were about to confess to being the Wolfman. So it’s a crush. So what. Just ask her out and be done with it.” Gabriel nudged Castiel’s feet under the table with his own and Castiel turned his gaze back to his brother. “I don’t see what the issue is here.”

“She is a he,” Castiel confessed.

A look of impressed wonder passed over Gabriel’s face and then he smiled at Castiel. “I still don’t see the issue here.”

Castiel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He is a student.”

“Oh, oh!” Gabriel waved a finger in Castiel’s face. “Cassie! Well, I never!” Gabriel withdrew his finger and winked at Castiel. “You could still, y’know, see if he was up for some extra study sessions.”

“You did not just-”

“I did. No shame. That’s me.” Gabriel waggled his eyebrows at Castiel, and Castiel contemplated sliding under the diner table and hiding there.

“I will not be hosting any extra study sessions for one student.” Castiel picked up his coffee mug and took a sip.

Gabriel stuffed his mouth full of syrupy pancake and chewed obnoxiously. Watching his brother eat, Castiel wondered why he had thought this breakfast was such a good idea. Sure he had nothing going on that particular Saturday morning, but there were less painful ways to torture himself about his crush and all of those ways could be done in private.

Gabriel swallowed and asked, “What’s his name?”

Face growing red, Castiel ducked his head and stayed silent.

“C’mon, Wolfman, who ya crushing on?”

Castiel looked up and tried to keep his gaze steady as he asked, “What, so that you can go check them out?”

Gabriel grinned. “Of course not.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can’t give you his name, because somehow, even after all the lectures I have delivered in front of him… I haven’t learned his name.” Castiel sighed. _Or even heard his voice_. “I don’t know how, but every chance I’ve had to catch it or ask it, somehow I haven’t.”

“Wow. That’s quite something. How long is it since this semester started?”

“Five weeks.”

“Tell you what, Cassie, ol’ boy, I’m feeling generous. To help you through these troubled times, I’m gonna give you a ticket to _the_ social event of the year.”

“What are you talking about?”

Gabriel smirked and picked up his coffee mug. “Why, nothing other than Balthazar Milton’s Halloween Masquerade Ball.”

“Balthazar Milton?” Castiel knew that his brother’s party planning business had been going from strength to strength, but he had no idea who Balthazar Milton was.

“Record label owner who’s got a mansion on the outskirts of town. Anyone who’s anyone will be at the ball. Maybe you’ll be able to find yourself someone to help you take your mind off of this freshman problem you have. Find a little devil to distract you, hey?” Gabriel took a swig of coffee and set the mug down. “Anyway, I’ll bring over your ticket when I come over next.”

Gabriel set down money for his side of the bill, plus tip and got up.

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked, surprised Gabriel was leaving so early.

“Got the social event of the year to organize, little bro’. Can’t spend my whole Saturday playing keeper to Wolfman. And maybe you should go look for an outfit once you’re done. Wouldn’t want to leave that last minute.” Gabriel punched Castiel in the arm and headed off.

Alone, Castiel looked at his plate of pancakes. His stomach churned uncomfortably, no relief having come from talking to his brother.

_I wonder what his name is..._


	5. Study hard, play hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I've added to the relationship tags that there's a crush situation going on between Benny and Dean. If this isn't your thing, I understand, but I don't expect this to get any more serious than a kiss during a later chapter.

It felt a little weird to be sat in Benny’s diner by himself, but Dean needed somewhere to study that weekend, because midterms were soon to start. The library on campus was completely packed. Home had Sam working on a science project with Bobby’s help and one of his classmates. Charlie’s dorm was too quiet, with everyone else there tense with midterm study worries.

Dean would be a free man, sort of, after October 13th, but he needed to get through the rest of the week first. And so Dean sifted through his pages of notes and extra reading material online, and the textbooks he had with him. Going over previously read chapters of Hawthorne for ENGL 101. Dipping into his main textbook for PSY 101 (and not getting too distracted when he recalled those lectures). And sure MATH 100 was still kicking Dean’s butt, though he was getting there—he just needed to give it a touch more attention than his other classes.

“Refill, cher?” Benny drawled, coffee pot in hand, easy smile on his face as he came to stop at Dean’s table.

Dean looked up at the taller man and nodded gratefully. “Yeah, keep it coming.”

Benny refilled Dean’s coffee mug for the fourth time. “I got a slice of cherry pie left if you’re interested?”

Dean looked between his notes and Benny. It had been a while since lunch and he wouldn’t be getting home until he was sure Sam and co were done for the day. His stomach gave a low rumble and Dean ducked his head, embarrassed that his stomach would betray his interest so.

What Sam said a few weeks ago came back to Dean. He looked back up at Benny, taking in the rest of the diner through his peripheral vision. A couple of other students were hunkered down at tables, studying up, but Benny wasn’t offering any of them pie. _Do… I… what… take advantage of this? Benny and his free cherry pie?_ Dean’s stomach rumbled again. _Free pie…_ Benny’s clear blue eyes continued to drink in Dean.

Dean swallowed. “Sure, cherry pie sounds good.”

Benny winked at Dean and he had no idea what the hell to make of that as the diner owner walked away. And suddenly MATH 100 didn’t seem quite as urgent as figuring out some kind of game plan for dealing with Benny. Sure he was an older man, but not by much. He was just over thirty. Tall and well… _he’s kinda… not small_ , Dean considered, swallowing thickly again.

It wasn’t that Dean wanted to just go and jump in the sack with Benny, but it was an unusual feeling to realize another guy might be into him. Plenty of girls and women had pursued Dean over the years, and only one relationship could have become something more, but Dean and Cassie had wanted different things. So that had ended with plenty of anger and hurt. Meanwhile, the number of guys who had shown interest before, Dean could count on one hand.

For Dean it was still weird to realize that someone might be interested in him, regardless of their gender, and without any booze warming their blood. Giving the impression of a cocksure stud when out drinking or partying, didn’t mean Dean was really like that—it was just a front he put on when he was out and trying to find someone for the night. But Benny had a sweetness and strength to him that Dean could be into if he let himself for all of ten seconds. Be into without an ounce of alcohol in his system.

Benny’s blue eyes swam to the forefront of Dean’s thoughts and then they slowly morphed into the azure beauties that were Professor Castiel Novak’s. Dean sighed and picked up his cup of coffee. He knew that he couldn’t even consider anything inappropriate with his professor unless he was no longer taking one of his classes and Dean wanted to finish PSY 101. He knew Castiel wouldn’t be teaching PSY 201 the following semester nor any of the other psych options he wanted to take. If he could just get through this first semester then maybe-

“Here you go.” Benny set down a plated slice of cherry pie down on the one bit of the table not covered in Dean’s things.

Dean glanced up at Benny. “Thanks.”

Benny smiled, but he didn’t move away and go see if anyone else needed something. He stood there awkwardly, mouth taut like he wanted to say something else.

_Oh crap, here it comes. The, “do you wanna go get a drink, after...” or dinner or, or, or…_ Dean didn’t let any of the mildly rising panic within him show on his face. Instead he remained open and calm, a part of him hoped that he could bring this face to the next poker game he played.

“I was wondering,” Benny began in his smooth Louisianan accent, “if you had any plans for Halloween?”

_Halloween?_ Dean put the brakes on the rising panic. “Uh...” Dean scrambled through what discussions he and Sammy had been having about Halloween. _What had we agreed?_ Dean finally recalled that Bobby had promised Sam could stay over his and join him for a monster movie marathon. Dean had been half-invited to that with the expectation that he’d do his usual thing, find a party and try to get laid.

Dean licked his lips, not missing the way Benny tracked that, and said, “Nope. No plans.”

“Listen, I’ve two tickets to Balthazar Milton’s Halloween Masquerade Ball,” Benny said in one quick breath. He gave a nervous grin and continued, “And I was wonderin’ if you wanted to go with me?”

Dean’s eyes were bugging out of his head. He didn’t live under a rock. He knew who Milton was. One of the youngest, most successful record producers in rock—or had been the youngest twenty years ago. But Milton was responsible for bringing to the world some of Dean’s favorite tunes from the 90s side of the 80s, which were few and far between.

“How did you get tickets?” Dean asked in a half stunned voice, because it was tough to get tickets to the ball.

“Milton and me go a ways back. Helped him with a few catering emergencies over the years… so, will you go with me?”

Benny was looking at Dean with big, hopeful, soulful eyes and Dean couldn’t say no to that. He just had to not mess up so bad that he and Sam couldn’t eat there anymore. He was positive he wouldn’t mess up a date that badly. Well, 95% sure… maybe 90%. Okay, more like 70%, but Sammy didn’t need to know that part when he told him and Bobby that he would be going to the social event of the year with their favorite diner owner.

“Yeah, I’ll go with you,” Dean replied, smiling.

“Great. Uh, just so you know, I’m going as a vampire.” Benny grinned.

_And now I have to sort out a costume._ “Cool… I’m gonna have to have a think about mine.”

Later that day, once Dean was done studying as much as his brain could cope and he’d settled up his tab, Dean had a business card thrust into his hand. It was Benny’s and on it was his cell number. Benny didn’t say to call or text him, but Dean knew it was implied

Driving home, Dean went around and around in his head with thoughts about whether this was a bad or a good idea, going on a date with Benny. Going to Milton’s ball was a pretty big deal. You didn’t just handover a ticket to something like without maybe hoping for a little something in return. But as Dean imagined kissing Benny’s beard framed lips, Benny kept morphing into the smoother Castiel Novak. The cherry pie from earlier churned in Dean’s stomach each time that happened and when he finally got back to the house, he was doubting his decision to say yes.

“Hey Dean!” Sam greeted brightly from beside a haggard looking Bobby. They were both sat on the couch, watching a nature documentary. The science project was standing proudly on one end of a side cabinet in the living room. The finished project was an impressive looking robot arm that Dean thought suspiciously looked like the arm from a T1000, made from parts out of Bobby’s salvage yard by the auto shop.

“Hey, you didn’t just happen to code up Skynet to go with that thing did you?” Dean asked in a slightly concerned voice.

Sam laughed and shook his head. “Nah, the code’s _nothing_ like that.”

“Okay, well now you’re home, I’’m heading back.” Bobby stood, picking up a leather bound book from the couch. “And I’d say there is a minor risk of John Connor showing up,” Bobby declared, running with the _Terminator_ references.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dean gave Bobby a thankful smile. Bobby hadn’t originally been penciled in to keep an eye on Sam, but Sam hadn’t been himself the past week. Someone had said something at school about their parents and while it hadn’t become a full blown fight, Sam hadn’t been himself since and needed a friendly presence around to keep an eye on him.

“You do that.” Bobby slapped Dean on the shoulder and headed for the hallway and the front door. “Night.”

“G’night,” Dean and Sam replied in unison.

The front door opened and closed.

“So,” Sam asked, “how’d studying go?”

Dean debated for all of two seconds whether he should tell Sam or not about Benny and then said, “Benny asked me to Balthazar Milton’s Halloween Masquerade Ball.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “No way.”

“Yes way.”

“Dude.”

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, worry creeping in.

“Did you say yes?”

“I did.”

“Dean… we still need to be able to eat there,” Sam pointed out in a worried voice.

“I know.” Dean collapsed on the couch beside Sam. Dean closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Do you have a costume yet?”

“No. And I’m not going to worry about it until after midterms.” Dean could practically feel Sam pouting beside him, as if the time frame was unacceptable to him. That it was make or break for this date.

“Dean...” Sam started to whine.

Turning to look at Sam, Dean gave his brother an unimpressed glower. “I’ll get something.”

Sam got up from the couch and started walking towards the kitchen. “It’s gonna suck,” Sam muttered, arms crossed over his chest.

Dean sunk deeper into the couch, rubbing at his face as he kept imagining Benny’s eyes morphing into Castiel’s. _I am so screwed._

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> I don't know how frequently I'll be updating, I have other bigger projects I'm trying to finish and start, but thanks for reading this so far.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at [dreamsfromthebunker](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/).


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